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Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Dark · #1653841
A typical night in this abusive relationship.
She sat on the couch in the dark, waiting for him to get home. It was nothing out of the ordinary, her staying up until one or two in the morning. But it was already four.

He finally stumbled through the door a half an hour later. She sprang up from her position on the edge of the couch.

“Jesus Christ, Jamie, where the hell have you been?”
He looked up and nodded at her. “Out.” He giggled and pointed to the open front door.

She walked around him and slammed the door shut. She turned back around and faced him. His eyes were slightly glazed over, but that was nothing new. He wore a big bruise around his left eye from his last bar fight, and tonight his clean and new white shirt was stained with alcohol and blood. Obviously someone else’s; he wasn’t bleeding.

“Whose blood is that, Jamie? Who did you beat up this time?”
“Aw, jus dat owld guy from down tha street, Kim. He was askin’ fa it.”
“Jamie, he’s seventy two years old! He wasn’t asking for it.”

She grabbed his arm and he shook it off. He grabbed her cheeks in his hands and looked her in the eyes. His eyes used to be a bright blue when they first got married, but not they just looked grey and desolate, covered over with sadness. She tore his hands from her face and put her arms by her side.

“Jamie...” She whispered. She could feel her cheeks burning red and she fought back that feeling in the back of her throat.
“Kim, I’m sorry. But I gatta do what I gatta ta keep dis family safe!” He spit on his last syllable.
“Jamie, we’re not in danger! Especially from a seventy two year old man!”

Tears began to collect in her eyes as she fought him. He grabbed her face again, but she tore him off right away and he sighed. His breath smelled like whiskey which made her gag.

“Jamie, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t sit here and wait for you. I have to work, and I have to support this family. All you do is drink and fight, Jamie. I can’t sit here and watch this.”

She finally let out all her tears as he sat down on the couch. He held his head in his hands for a minute before looking back up at her. His cheeks were bright red and his hands were now clenched in a fist.

“You can’t deal wit dis!? Kim, I’m da one takin’ care a-this family! I work er-day an’ bring home money so you an’ da kids can have a good life! I do er-thing ‘round here, Kim! Not you!”
“Jamie, don’t be mad! I just can’t deal with this anymore!”

He took her by the wrist and threw her down on the couch. She pulled her knees up to her chest and waited for his blows. And then there they were. His fists pounded into her thighs and shins and stomach and shoulders. Every so often he would hit her on the side of the head and she would let out a small cry. But she knew well enough that if she screamed, he would only hit her longer and harder.
After about ten minutes, he decided he was done. He helped her up off the couch and down to their bedroom.

“You know I love you, Kim.” He patted her hair down and wiped the tears from her cheeks.
“I know, Jamie.”

He laid down next to her in bed, put his arm across her stomach, and buried his face in her neck. She let out a couple final sobs before taking his hand in hers. It was really nothing out of the ordinary.
© Copyright 2010 Hannah Jon (woahxitzhannah at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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